


The Last Hive

by Crepuscular



Category: Terraria
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 11:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crepuscular/pseuds/Crepuscular
Summary: A short story detailing the last moments of a Terrarian hive trying to overcome an unstoppable force.





	The Last Hive

Honey drips from glistening stalactites, settling into a golden lake. A cacophony of buzzing fills the chambers of the hive. Outside of its main entrance, bees can be seen moving about to the gentle hum of jungle life cast in fluorescent greens. The colorful light bleeds into the hive just enough to illuminate the sole inhabitant of a lonely island. Beneath the waxy exterior of their cocoon, they sleep comfortably. Their flesh is a warm tan accented by a gentle tint of amber. Their crimson hair is so long that they are swaddled in it. Their fingers and toes flex and relax as they dream. 

At the entrance to the hive, a figure appears. A bee greater than all the others. Her wings beat to her own special song: The royal hum of a queen revered by her countless children, and even some of her enemies. In her wake, another being enters: A tall figure swathed by the warm jungle air, with hair as royal a violet as the leaves of a jacaranda tree. The grass kneels forward to kiss her feet. The glow of the jungle brightens in her presence, the flora determined to give her their best show. The earth gives a solemn wave goodbye as her feet transition onto soft, papery flooring. The lights do not cease, however, as they guide her path into the dark wonders of the hive. She waits at the honeyed shore as her companion goes forward to greet their only hope for the future, who was born too late to do anything.

The queen lands gracefully upon the island. Two great antennae reach down and tenderly brush the cocoon. Its occupant shifts half-consciously, graced by its caretaker's familiar pheromones. A smile grows on their face. In spite of current events, this creation is a miracle in disguise. The queen and her friend have spent countless hours trying to get the magic right. Even more hours were spent discussing the creation of a fitting soul for them. Consultation for the creation of souls was spread few and far between. The jungle souls and pure souls were privy enough to answer their questions, but both groups lacked the proper power. The sky souls spoke in ancient tongues and the ocean souls spoke prophetically. The underworld and dungeon souls were even worse, wanting steep sacrifices in return for their arcane magic and ancient knowledge. In the end all of them were consulted, and the necessary prices were paid. 

The queen emits a hum of relief. It seemed impossible at first, but in the end it worked. It is almost time, in fact, for the creation to hatch. Its ceremony was planned today, and not a moment sooner. Its inauguration was supposed to be the end of the Hive Wars. A way to stop the spread of destruction wrought by the true enemy. A chance to create a strong bulkhead until the jungle's whole might can be brought to bear. Everyone was supposed to be there. The Dryads, The Lizard-men, and even the other remaining Hives. But the setback they brought upon their enemy deterred them for far less time than was expected. 

Grimly, she remembers why she has come here. In the distance, her friend sits cross-legged at the shore. The expression on the woman's face is comfortingly familiar. A mixture of pride and patience and understanding. A sequence of complex emotions transmitted near-instantly through simple muscular contractions. The queen has gotten good at understanding the nonverbal gestures of other species. Reading them becomes easy once she finds the patterns. But not all of nature's faces are so easy to read. Especially not those of her friend. Such strange creatures the dryads are, walking on two feet and talking in a strange speech not unlike that of the lizard-men living inside of the great Tomb of The Sun. The dryads wield mastery over even the most dreaded of the jungle's plants, yet find themselves at the jungle's mercy in spite of this. 

Another buzz fills the air. Right on time. One of her children hurries inside. It lands unceremoniously, accidentally knocking into one of her hind legs. After one last caress of the cocoon, she patiently turns around to question them. He scrambles back, chattering in panic. This child is as nervous as ever, it seems. She gives them a reassuring hum. He regains enough confidence to relay his message:

"They are coming back."  
"Who is coming back?"  
"The soldiers."  
"A retreat was not ordered."  
"That is what we tried to tell them. They did not listen. They tried to kill us. They got sick, too. I'm the only one that returned."

There is a beat of silence.  
The queen continues. "The others must be told."  
She looks down at her servant. "You know what must be done."  
He buzzes again, his signals stuttering as he tries to compose himself. "Yes, Your Grace." They leave to spread a call to arms throughout the entire hive.

A smell of fear from the cocoon distracts the queen. Its host curls up tight, embracing its knees. 

They all know what is coming. It has troubled their dreams for months now. Everyone has experienced them: Horrible smells that come and go; those persistent, guttural moans riding on the wind; that ugly flesh haphazardly stretched over naked bone; that endless, relentless, savouring hunger. An army that relishes in life's worst evils. Pillage, assimilate, consume, repeat. Meaningless, selfish abominations that force others to join their ranks be they dead or alive. 

The air shifts quietly as her friend rises from the honeyed shore, turns, and walks outside. Another worker arrives and brings news of mobilization. The queen lowers her head, a gesture she learned from her friend. She knows it as humility, as acceptance. The worker stands silently as their mother, their queen, momentarily falters. A person just like them, burdened by life's difficulties. Their responsibilities are different, but they will all share the same fate. Everyone in this hive will be silenced, just like all hives before them. Nobody can do anything about it. It walks forward and brushes its mother comfortingly with its antennae. A gurgling howl echoes in the distance, accompanied by a fell cacophony of hums. They both look up and gaze outside.  
So it comes: Their end draws near. 

The queen feels a new pressure behind her. A slow rustle, a grasping of thin film. The cocoon is cracking. But she averts her gaze. Bittersweet royal jelly cushions her creation's fall and then seeps into the lake like milky blood. She has done her part; they are no longer a part of her responsibility anymore. Their fate was now in their own hands. Of course, there was one more thing she could do for them. 

To help them save the future of the hive, they must end the current one. The queen tells her servant to go on ahead. And as she leaves, she dares to look back. There lies her creation, coughing and retching. Naked, weak, and frail within the first few minutes of its birth. Something vaguely like how her friend used to look. A failure by insect standards, but perhaps beautiful in the eyes of her friend. Her friend is watching the spectacle from afar with visible anguish, her chest heaving strongly. After a solemn moment of silence, the queen exits her hive. Her troops await her at the front, watching from the cliffside as their impending doom approaches.

The queen stands stoically among her children. The Dryad is perched atop a flat mossy rock in their midst, her hands cupped over her sternum. In the middle of her palms is a small pink flower bulb. In the distance, a red film pulses across the walls like the angry guts of a giant crawling out to consume the world. Plants are digested by its vile touch. Wood is split into keratin and the muddy earth leaks with blood. Things inch and shamble upon the creep, too afraid to set foot onto the verdant earth but eager for what is to come. But the worst of the horrors are the things that used to be the jungle's denizens. Asymmetrical things with wriggling legs and drilling mandibles. Even their most hated rivals did not deserve such a fate. With their bodies twisted nearly beyond recognition, the souls of Hive Redthorn and Hive Moonglow are left to suffer within. Their jerky moments hesitate briefly once they see the last hive preparing their attack. 

Both sides zoom toward each other. Hunger and courage slam against each other, accompanied by furious buzzes and a lonesome shout. Then, a sound like snapping vines and angry trees. An intense light surges from all around as the jungle gives its enemy one last show of power. The creep recedes in fear of what it sees. Raw purity burns their flesh, compelling it to flee. Its army is left behind as it retreats, leaving them subject to the stings and bites of the jungle denizens. Thorns and brambles seize clumps of meat and slice them into harmless chunks. Flowers bloom suddenly, trapping both friend and foe in their prison-like jaws. Like wounds beaten raw, all that remains behind is a bare, beaten-blue earth mixed with broken bones and bloody pus.

The jungle falls quiet. There is nothing left to kill now. It ponders the hive for a moment before the last of its summoner's will ushers it forward. It gets to its final task, pushing the crushed husk of the last hive towards the surface. With its task complete, the soul of the jungle falls asleep.


End file.
